The Past and the Present
by Lucea
Summary: Be careful what you wish for, because it just might come true. A oneshot inspired by the skit of the same name.


**Disclaimer:** _Tales of the Abyss_ and its characters are copyright Namco Bandai Games Inc. This work is not for profit.

A/N: This story can be confusing at first if you don't remember the skit in question, so I've included a transcript of the skit at the end. You may want to read it before reading the story, but that's up to you – it does contain a slight spoiler for the fic. Thanks to Reflection's Voice and LastWingedWolfFlying for giving me the idea to include it, even if they didn't realize that they did so.

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><p><em>"To know what <em>would _have happened . . . ? No. Nobody is ever told that."  
>from <em>Prince Caspian_ by C.S. Lewis_

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><p>Snow was falling from a midnight sky. Not the harsh, biting, wind-driven snow that unpredictably plagued Mt. Roneal and the surrounding area, but the gentle, wispy snow that would bring to mind images of snow angels and fireplaces and cozy blankets to keep away the chill that brushed against frosty windowpanes. Here and there, lampposts cast their warm glow on near-empty streets, each halo of light holding a small piece of darkness away from the roads below.<p>

The peaceful silence was broken only by the almost imperceptible click of boots on cobblestones. Their owner, a tall man in military uniform, paused for a moment, gazing inexpressibly toward the icy mountain that stood somewhere in the darkness beyond the city. He made no movement beyond each slow breath that evaporated soundlessly into the night. Minutes ticked by before he seemed to come to himself and moved on without a word.

His feet led him through the empty streets, past the hotel and casino with its gaudy lights interrupting the evening and into the residential area of the city. Quietly, he walked by homes with darkened windows whose inhabitants had already turned in for the night. Before too long, he paused again in front of one. He took in the house for a long moment before mounting the few steps to the door. He removed one hand from his pocket to grasp the handle. It was cool to the touch. Unlocked. How unusual.

Opening the door just enough to pass through, he stepped inside and closed it softly behind him, replacing hand in pocket as he stood waiting for the fog that had overcome his glasses to dissipate. It wasn't truly necessary, for as the steam faded he could only see the darkness of a sleeping home. He moved through the hallway, the sound of his footsteps cushioned by the carpet beneath his feet, silent as the shadows in which he walked until his steps finally came to an end. Another pause as he regarded the door before him. It seemed prudent not to be hasty.

The door creaked faintly as he pushed it open and stepped into the room. It was no brighter than the hallway he had just left, but his eyes were well enough adjusted. A bedroom. It was neatly kept; in the darkness, no one would have guessed that it belonged to a child who was hardly a toddler. The man in the doorway crossed the room to stand over the bed, looking impassively down at its sleeping occupant. The little boy's hand lay near his mouth, catching each steady breath of sleep in his palm.

A flash of light filled the room as the man drew his spear. It shone briefly on the sleeping child's golden brown hair. More than thirty years later, its color had barely changed. Overall, neither had he. Silently, he raised the weapon, eyes focused emotionlessly on the sleeping child. And for the fourth time that night, he paused, this time to contemplate the object in his hand. He glanced toward it just once, then his eyes found the child's face again. He stood there for how long, he didn't know, eyes fixed on the child's face and spearpoint trained on the child's heart. The boy stirred slightly in his sleep, but quickly settled down again with a tiny sigh. The spear had hardly fallen as the man stood frozen, but now he raised it again.

Hands once more in his pockets, the man paced back down the deserted street, accompanied only by the faint click of his boots on the cobblestones. The house remained silently behind him, but he did not look back. He had closed and locked the door when he had left. He had not yet made it back to the center of town when he stopped. Gradually, the silver world began to fade, leaving only the gently falling snow before it too vanished into darkness.

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><p>"...k he's coming to!"<p>

Slowly, Jade opened his eyes, blinking to bring the world into focus. He found himself looking up into a sky that was very bright and very blue and very much not the last sky he remembered seeing, and it was mostly blocked by five very concerned faces looking down at him.

"Jade, are you all right?"

He must have looked as bemused as he felt, for Guy quickly offered, "You took a pretty bad beating in that last battle we had. We were on our way back to the Albiore when you suddenly collapsed."

Now that was unfortunate. Ah well, no matter. He'd brush it off without too much trouble. He nodded a thanks to Guy as Tear held out her hand, prepared to use a healing arte. She probably already had while he had been unconscious. "How do you feel, Colonel?"

Jade sat up, raising one hand to politely decline the action. "I'm quite all right. Thank you for your concern." His head still spun, he'd admit to himself, but the others didn't need to know that.

He stood and almost immediately faltered. Luke and Guy were instantly on either side of him. "We're not far from the Albiore. You should get some rest as soon as we get there, Jade." Luke offered a tentative half-smile. "We don't want you keeling over on us again, old man."

Jade returned a brief smirk before nodding curtly. "My apologies for holding us up. We ought to be moving on." He stepped forward without another word, leaving his confused companions to follow on.

Later, he sat in his customary seat on the Albiore, head resting against his chest as he feigned sleep for the benefit of the people who hovered nearby, conversing about him in hushed tones for fear of waking him. He knew they were worried about him. Of course, they would be even more worried if they knew what was actually on his mind.

It wasn't his collapse that troubled him – uncharacteristic of him, perhaps, but not at all impossible. It was the dream, the vision, whatever he ought to call it. It had been quite realistic for a mere dream. He could almost still feel the icy air of Keterburg on his skin. The human imagination was a mysterious thing, certainly. But of all the things he might have dreamt once he'd fallen unconscious, that this would be his mind's choice...

_"...I wish I could go back in time and kill myself as a newborn. I keep coming up with such troublesome things..."_

He did wonder, briefly, what might have happened if he had gone through with it, his mind lighting on an image of the door opening to reveal the child lying in a shroud of sheets stained with his own blood, hand still curled by his lips, waiting to catch a breath that would never come. He was a killer already; he didn't need to become a murderer on top of it. One could argue, and perhaps quite rightly, that he was already that as well. And whatever he said about suicidal people getting on his nerves, it had never been his intention to join them. Regardless, neither of those was the reason he had lowered his spear, turned his back, and left the slumbering child behind.

_"...That would suck."_

He'd been confused, but only for a moment. Leave it to Luke and Anise to put things so bluntly.

_"If you did that, Luke and Ion wouldn't even have been born."_

That was the crux of the matter, there. He could never predict the consequences of his actions. He had regrets, certainly. Yet the more he thought about it, the more he found that he couldn't quite bring himself to regret the sequence of actions and consequences that had brought those two replicas into being. At least, he regretted the mess that he and others had made of fomicry, but he did not regret their existence.

_"...That's true. I suppose I can't change the past..."_

He had been right in saying that, but only because they had been more right than perhaps they would ever know. He couldn't change the past. Jade allowed himself a small, private smile. More importantly, he had been wrong. He had changed. And that was what would matter in the end.

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><p>Here is the dialogue from the skit "The Past and the Present." Thanks to the Skit Scripts FAQ on GameFAQs for this transcript.<p>

Tear: Dist should have known what would happen if someone tried to control the Seventh Fonon by force...

Luke: But for someone to turn into...that... How can that happen?

Jade: ...That technology, for bringing fonons into the body... I invented that as a child as well.

Tear/Luke/Anise: ...!

Anise: Wow... you really do make everything.

Jade: ...I wish I could go back in time and kill myself as a newborn. I keep coming up with such troublesome things...

Luke: ...That would suck.

Jade: ...?

Anise: If you did that, Luke and Ion wouldn't even have been born.

Jade: ...That's true. I suppose I can't change the past...


End file.
